


Nothing but Time on His Dirty Hands

by YesIsAWorld



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dildos, Explicit Sexual Content, Famous Louis Tomlinson, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/pseuds/YesIsAWorld
Summary: Harry enjoys his daydream about Louis Tomlinson.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 128
Collections: Week Fifty-Eight





	Nothing but Time on His Dirty Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of an ongoing challenge using the book 1000 Feelings For Which There Are No Names for our prompts. To read the other fics written in this challenge, [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShortFic_Challenge_For_Which_There_Is_No_Name/works). You can find more information on the challenge here and to reblog the masterpost on tumblr, you can [click here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/159679804243/1000-feelings-for-which-there-are-no-names-prompt).  
> My prompt was #87: The enjoyment of your daydreams.
> 
> Thank you [Lauren](http://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/) for the last-minute quick beta!

Harry finally had the house to himself. 

It’d been ages; every other time he’d come home from college it was for some big event. Thanksgiving. Gemma’s birthday. Christmas. Extended family had been visiting—or Gemma’s friends—and the house always felt full. Obviously, that didn’t stop him from masturbating. A man had needs. But everytime he pulled one off it felt perfunctory: in the shower as soon as he woke up before he had coffee with his Nana, or in the dead of night when he just wanted to fall back asleep.

Back when he was in high school, he had the house to himself every afternoon. His parents were working and Gemma was away at school and he’d been home by three-thirty with nothing to do but homework and the occasional band practice with his friends. 

Those masturbatory sessions were glorious. His heyday before college roommates and an actual daily to do list. All he had was time for pleasure.

So having the house to himself was something special, and he was going to take full advantage. 

He was all alone, except for Louis Tomlinson, number 28 for FC Cincinnati. He was their first designated player, joining the team after he’d won all the major international trophies, and retired from the Premier League. Louis’ poster was hung on Harry’s ceiling, right above his bed; obvious perhaps, for anyone questioning its placement, but the perfect place for Harry to _look._

He hadn’t had a self-indulgent, over the top, loud, slow, imaginative session in… fuck, probably since he left for college. His roommate and the rest of the guys on his floor were all cool, but like, he couldn’t relax into it like he can at home. Like he can with Louis. 

He’d shut and locked his door. No one else should be home for hours, but better safe than sorry. He got out his dildo and lube, and a condom for easy clean up, and laid them all out on his nightstand on top of his Stats book, which he probably should’ve been reading instead. Whatever. There’d be time for that after. 

Then he lit the candles. Not too many, he didn’t want to verge into sacrificial territory, but enough that the mood was elevated to something special. He flapped his arms around, trying to disperse the sulfuric scent of the matches. 

Shimmying out of his sweats and boxers, he laid down on his unmade bed. 

Louis Tomlinson. 

There was a lot to love about Louis Tomlinson. His heart. The amount of time he spent at the children’s hospital, even though soccer wasn’t nearly as popular as football or baseball. But he’d heard about Louis’ trips there anyway, spending time with the kids and bringing them presents. He was a family man, not yet married, but his Instagram was filled with pictures of his younger siblings. He was rich, obviously, making millions and millions when he was in the Premier League, and then moving to Ohio, where his money would stretch so much further. His accent. Harry’s cock gave a feeble kick at the thought of Louis’ accent, which would be weird, whose accent was that attractive, except that Louis was just so very British. And that was more attractive than it had any right to be. 

His thighs. 

Those were important. 

Harry slid his rings off his fingers and placed them on the nightstand, next to the lube. He wasn’t ready for it yet though, didn’t want it to be over before it even started. He slid his hand down his chest, slowly, stopping to rub and gently pinch his nipples into hard buds before trailing lower, over his sparse chest hair, his flat stomach, the courser hair under his belly button that turned into his pubes. Even raking his fingers through there had his abs jumping and tensing, his whole body already attuned to what was coming next. 

Louis’ thighs were thick. Compact. Powerful. They propelled him across the soccer field, but they also looked so fucking sexy. The line of muscle. Harry wanted to bite them, but also he wanted them pressed tight against his head while Louis sat on his face (after a game, as congratulatory tossed salad for a job well done) or wrapped around his waist while Harry dicked into him.

Harry scratched his own inner thighs, wondering if Louis’ thigh hair would be as soft as his, imagining that Louis would shiver and and the thin skin there would goosebump as Harry danced his fingers across it. Harry cupped the heft of his balls and thought about Louis’ voice. The rasp of it. Whether it’d get deeper as he got turned on, or whether he’d give into high-pitched whimpers. His dick twitched again, kicking to life, filling up as he thought about Louis below him, on his knees, sucking Harry off. Louis’d probably like it if Harry held him there, if his fingers wove through Louis’ hair, if he was an anchor to Harry’s pleasure. 

Harry finally wrapped a hand around himself. He kept it loose, teasing himself, letting himself know that there would be more to come, soon. He let his fingers linger, sliding up and down his shaft, feeling himself thicken up. 

He had seen Louis once, in real life, at a charity bar crawl. Harry wasn’t much of a drinker, but it was for charity and his buddy Niall needed a DD, so Harry paid up and prepared for a day of—soberly—dealing with his drunken friends. Niall whooped loudly when they entered the second bar, he wasn’t even drunk yet, just loud, getting Harry’s attention as he cackled and roughly patted Harry on the back. 

“Look who’s bartending!” Niall practically yelled. Harry turned his head and caught Louis’ eye just as Niall shouted into his ear, “Your future husband, Louis Tomlinson!”

Thankfully, Louis smiled, all the way up to his eyes, and shook his head, probably bemused by Niall’s antics. He hadn’t looked annoyed at all at the idea of being Harry’s husband, and even though Harry hadn’t actually worked up the courage to go say hi or order a beer from the celebrity guest bartender the entire afternoon, that moment had been etched inside Harry’s brain.

Harry reached for his lube and bright blue dildo. He bit his lip at the thought of Louis smiling at the overheard mention of being Harry’s husband. A commitment kink for someone he hadn’t even met yet. Harry snorted and flicked open the lube. He drizzled a more than adequate amount on the thick, realistic silicon and coated it, fingers passing over the faux veins and bumps. It was longer and thicker than he was, and he always imagined it as Louis, even though he had no idea at all what Louis’ actual cock would be like. Even when his actual ex (as clumsy and short-lived as that relationship was) was using it on him, he still thought of his imaginary, perfect, partner. 

Even though he knew better, he held his breath as he breached himself with the blunt end of the fake cock. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, holding it for a second, before exhaling, and relaxing enough to push it in a few more inches. It was a stretch, just on the right side of painful for a few seconds until he acclimated to the intrusion, and then he just felt full. Whole. He pumped it a few times slowly, pulling it out—not all the way—and pushing it back in, a tiny bit more each time, until it was in as far as it would go. It pressed against his prostate, hard and unyielding, even as he wiggled his hips. 

He clenched down, and all the nerve endings surrounding the dildo lit up. He groaned softly, knowing he must look as wanton as he felt, starfished across his bed, a fake cock stuck in his ass, and he still hadn’t _really_ gotten a hand on himself yet. Knowing it’d stay in place, doing its job, he let go so his hands would be free to caress and explore other areas of his body. 

His nipples hadn’t gotten nearly the attention they deserved. 

With his right hand back on his dick, he pinched one nipple with his left hand, then the other nipple. They were already hard, and the tight, vice-like sensations sent kicks of pleasure down to his core. He alternated the pinching with gentle sweeping flicks; the changing sensations kept him from diving into the world of nipple clamps, though he was sure the pleasure would be overwhelming. 

On the poster over his head, Harry couldn’t make out Louis’ nipples through his shirt, but he had seen footage of him playing shirtless. He knew Louis’ nipples were tiny. They matched the rest of his body perfectly; dainty and powerful at the same time. A rare mix that Harry was obsessed with. They were the exact opposite of Harry’s, which were puffy and obvious, not content to hide behind his shirts. Harry was strong and dainty too, broad shoulders with muscular arms, but feminine, frolicing, in his movements. They fit together. Harry knew in his soul that they were a perfect match.

Harry arched into the next touch, pinching his nipple again, then draping his fingers across the bumps of his ribs, sending more goosebumps across his flank. He tried to keep his other hand slow, savoring the feeling of his hand tight around his cock, the way the soft skin moved with him, the head of his cock disappearing and reappearing from the sleeve of his foreskin. 

Louis was mid-kick in the poster, his left leg planted, his right leg behind him, ready to launch the ball across the field. His hands though—his hands were so fucking attractive that Harry’s breath caught as he eyed them. One was up in the air, bent at the wrist, not loose though, not limp, not yet, though Harry could clearly see how it’d happen when his arm swung down to propel the kick, how the pent up energy in his hips, legs, would connect through the ball and he’d relax after, let his hand fall where it may.

Louis’ other hand was the one Harry stared at while he jacked himself. It wasn’t quite balled into a fist. But it was tight, his forearm tense, and Harry could perfectly imagine the way his own dick would look surrounded by Louis’ fingers. Harry had never loved someone else’s fingers like he loved Louis’. Fingers were one the first things that Harry checked out on a cute guy, and they never, ever, measured up to Louis’. Louis’ hands were strong, but still thin, well-manicured, not quite bony, but defined in a way that Harry found so fucking attractive that he could hardly stand it.

He wanted those fingers in him. 

Fisting wasn’t something that Harry normally thought about, but now, in the moment, thinking about gripping that delicate wrist with his sensitive rim had Harry moaning. He bore down on his dildo, bridging his hips up, and yelped as it dug more firmly into his prostate. 

He thought about the way Louis’ fingers would flex around his cock, how big Harry would look held in Louis’ small hands, how Louis might quirk an eyebrow, asking silently if he was doing an okay job, looking for Harry’s approval. He worked himself faster, finding the perfect rhythm that kept the tight pressure in his balls building without tipping over too soon. He was failing at that, unable to stop or slow down his hand the way that Louis might do, teasing him, edging him, over and over again until Harry was begging to come.

Harry teetered on the precipice, pumping his hips and twisting his wrist at the crown of his dick. He dug his nails into his nipple; they could be Louis’ teeth. Louis was all around him. Harry felt like he was going to explode, his whole body coiled and ready for release, but he curled his toes, set his jaw, willed himself to hold off just a few more seconds, to enjoy knowing that he was going to be awash in pleasure momentarily. Thinking that Louis would tell him when it was time. 

And then he let himself go. 

The force of it had him curling into himself as the come shot up his stomach. Bearing down on the dildo only made it last longer, and he cried out, still having more pleasure wrung out of himself. He twitched and shook himself through it, imagining a mischievous glint in Louis’ eye as he kept working Harry through his orgasm, as he kept a tight hand on Harry’s cock, past when he was too sensitive and needed to bat Louis’ hand away. 

Harry finally let himself go, when the pleasure-pain got to be too much. He dropped one hand on the bed, and the other he shook out as he gasped for breath, then he swiped it through the mess on his tattooed stomach. 

He let out a long even breath, then shivered as he again clenched around the dildo.

As his heartbeat returned to normal, he grabbed his phone. The house would still be empty for hours, so there was no rush to clean up. There was no rush for it to be over, either.

He unlocked it and opened his browser, googling Louis’ name and soccer and video. He was sure the internet was full of more material for his fantasies, and he had nothing but time on his dirty hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites. I'm not currently allowing translations either. Thank you for respecting my wishes.
> 
> [Here's a tumblr link if you enjoyed it, and want to reblog!](https://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/post/621820975470755840/nothing-but-time-on-his-dirty-hands-larry-2k)
> 
> [Here's a twitter link if you enjoyed it, and want to retweet!](https://twitter.com/Lou_and_Haz_AF/status/1275822129276207108?s=20)


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